


Memento Mori

by scullywolf



Series: TXF: Scenes in Between [87]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Introspection, MSR, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:18:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf





	Memento Mori

_“What happened to Scully?”_  
_“I got to her.”_  
_“Where is she now?”_

It took some time for him to recover fully. 

The shock of his discoveries at the fertility clinic, barely escaping under a hail of bullets, racing back to the hospital with his heart in his throat -- none of it compared to the sheer terror of finding Scully’s room empty. Rational thought had fled, replaced by the sucking certainty that he was too late, because he needed to see her, needed to know that she was safe, but her room was _empty_. The only sign of her was a note, written to him but unfinished, and why was it unfinished? What had happened to keep her from finishing it?

So yes, when he finally laid eyes on her and found her to be whole and unharmed and very much alive, relief had been an almost tangible thing. But it still took a while for him to stop shaking, for the adrenaline to work its way through his system. Byers sat with him after he collapsed into a chair in the hallway, offering quiet support for which Mulder was grateful. He didn’t want to talk, couldn’t string thoughts together anyway beyond _Thank you, thank you, thank you… thank you for still being alive._

A nurse came by after a few minutes, the same one he’d yelled at not long before, to tell them that she was sorry, but visiting hours had long since ended and that they would have to come back in the morning. Mulder pulled his badge from his pocket and held it up.

“I’m not leaving my partner unprotected.”

“Sir, this is a hospital. I assure you, patient safety is--”

“I’m not. Leaving her.”

She stood there for a moment more, eyes narrowed and mouth open as if to continue arguing with him, then seemed to realize that would be futile. She turned and left without another word, and even though it wasn’t her fault, Mulder gritted his teeth against the wave of anger that surged up over the fact that the hospital -- or at least one of its doctors -- was the very thing from which Scully needed to be protected. When the nurse was gone, he turned to Byers. 

“The boys are waiting outside with the van. Tell them she’s gonna be all right, and I’ll catch up with you guys when we get back to Washington.” Byers nodded and stood to go, but Mulder put a hand on his arm. “And Byers? Thank you. Seriously. Thank Langly and Frohike for me, too, would you? You all did good work tonight.”

“I’m just glad she’s going to be okay.”

The two men exchanged nods, and Mulder tucked away his ID before leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped together to mask their residual tremors. He let out a shaky breath and allowed his eyes to slip closed, allowed himself to finally begin to relax.

After about an hour, his heart rate back to normal and his mind recovered from the whiplash of fear and relief, he stood and stretched his back. A few steps forward took him back to the door of Penny Northern’s room, and he could see through the window that nothing seemed to have changed. Deciding he could probably safely walk away for a few minutes, he went in search of a vending machine. When he passed Scully’s room, he paused at the doorway, remembering the notebook on her bedside. He walked over and picked it up, stuck it in his jacket pocket, and continued on.

He found vending machines outside a staff break room, got himself a soda and a bag of pretzels, then returned to his chair in the hallway, after taking another look through the window to reassure himself that Scully was still there, still all right. Sitting, he withdrew the journal from his pocket and flipped it open to the first entry. His stomach clenched as he began to read, at the thought of her writing these words to him, at the depth of concern they revealed. Here she was facing this huge and terrifying thing, and she was worried about how _he_ would cope.

_...hoping that you will forgive me for not making the rest of the journey with you._

How could he not forgive her everything? How could she ever think he would hold her to blame for the things that had been done to her?

He read another page, and another, and what he found was so intimate, so private, that continuing felt almost like a trespass, even though his name appeared on nearly every page. It was as if he were merely a placeholder, rather than the literal intended recipient of her words. He quietly closed the journal, returned it to his pocket, and turned what he had read over and over in his mind.

_...as I have come to trust no other…_

For all their differences, for all that they challenged each other and at times tried each other’s patience, the bond of trust between them was mutual and ironclad. More than socializing outside of work, more than demonstrations or overtures of affection or attraction, it was that bond of trust that made Mulder feel that his relationship with Scully was something wholly unique and far deeper than a merely professional one. Yes, all FBI partners needed to be able to trust one another, but there was a difference between trusting in a partner’s competency and ethics and trusting a partner with your deepest secrets. What he and Scully had was the latter, and he would honor her trust in him now by safeguarding things written while she was vulnerable and scared.

And now behind that door she held Penny’s hand, with all of the bravery and compassion that he so loved in her, in what were likely the final hours of the other woman’s life. It was not his vigil to sit -- he did not know Penny as Scully had come to -- but beyond wanting to be assured that no further harm could come to her within this place, he wanted to be here as her friend, to offer whatever support and comfort he could.

He opened his soda, sat back in the chair, and waited.


End file.
